One for the Road
by L J Groundwater
Summary: Lizzie drags Red along when she's ordered on a mission in between Blacklisters. The game they play does more than pass the time. Funny, and sad, this takes place after Liz finds out about Tom, but before she learns that Red killed Sam. Please let me know what you think!


Been a long time... this one was sitting in my head waiting to come out... will get back to "Little Joe" soon... please let me know what you think. This little one is set after she finds out about Tom, but before she finds out that Sam killed Red. Thanks for reading.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

"I don't know why I agreed to come with you on this trip to nowhere, Lizzie. Trekking across the country like Thelma and Louise isn't how I _ever_ pictured my life, not even in my darkest hours."

Elizabeth Keen glanced away from the road to Raymond Reddington, who was sitting beside her in the hatchback with his ever-present Fedora on his lap, looking out the window. "It's not a trip to _nowhere,_ Red; Cooper's assigned me the task of finding this guy. He's a master forger under the guise of being an art dealer. I need help, and you're the most knowledgeable person I know when it comes to this stuff."

"Surely not," Reddington replied.

"That portrait in the house—the one of that girl—"

"_The Young Woman Seated at the Virginals,"_ Red supplied, turning back to her. He shivered. "Don't mention that painting," he said; "I suspect we're too far from a rest stop to discuss it."

Liz shook her head and let out what should have been an exasperated sigh, but which came out as somewhat amused. "Anyway, since your next Blacklister didn't seem to be forthcoming, Cooper asked me to work on this."

"Even the bad guys take vacations occasionally, Lizzie. The next criminal I have in mind particularly likes his wine, women and song. Not necessarily in that order."

"What's first—the women?"

Red quirked his lips. "Not in this case. The last time I encountered him, I was on the verge of _begging_ for him to strangle me, just so I didn't have to hear another chorus of _The Surrey with the Fringe on Top._ The things that man would do to Rodgers and Hammerstein were just... unforgiveable."

"So we're looking for him because of his musical talent?"Liz quipped.

"Or lack thereof," Red replied. He shook his head. "No, Lizzie. The Prima Donna's crimes are much more serious than that. Even if they _are _less grating on the ears."

"Every group has its black sheep. Even in criminal circles, right?" she observed.

"Exactly." Red narrowed his eyes. "Are you implying I'm one of those?"

"Never!" Liz allowed herself to grin. "You know, I'd be willing to bet you're on a blacklist or two yourself."

"Just two?" Red retorted. "You do me a disservice. I expect that there are at least a dozen people at any given time who want to see me dead." He paused, then added, "Even people you'd consider some of the good guys."

Liz nodded thoughtfully. She had to agree. When she first was summoned to the Post Office to meet with Reddington, she hadn't seen anything but an arrogant, presumptuous traitor who had betrayed kin and country to do whatever selfish things he had planned. He was a criminal of the highest order, trading government secrets for his own advancement; a soulless, amoral and money-driven monster who even now was only turning himself in to gain some advantage. The more she read about his activities while he was a fugitive, the less she cared whether he lived or died—and _she_ hadn't even been directly affected by his actions. Then, she'd been forced to start spending time with Reddington, talking to him, following his instincts. And she had been put in danger many times—more times than she probably ever expected to as a profiler. And she had begun to see a side of him that clashed with those wider opinions.

Certainly Red could be arrogant. He could be self-centered and violent and incredibly dangerous. But he could also show compassion. And he drew lines in the sand regarding who could get hurt. And he had revealed himself as someone who could be vulnerable, deeply loyal, and even more deeply hurt. And for some reason, most of all, she had come to realize that he was a fierce protector of those he deemed worthy. Why _she_ was worthy was something she did not know. But she was beginning to understand that her name was on that very short list, and she had seen evidence of what that meant: a willingness to totally sacrifice himself. This forced her to reconsider her opinion of Raymond Reddington—including if she cared whether he lived or died.

His voice from beside her startled her out of her musings. "It may surprise you to know that I'm not really interested in fine art and exotic locales and high living."

"You certainly hide that fact well."

"It's all part of the business, Lizzie. In order to be successful, I need to be able to be comfortable around the ultra rich. After all, those are the people it's the most fun to swindle." Reddington offered her a small, amused smile.

Liz slid her eyes toward him as she continued driving. "Of course."

"My personal preferences are somewhat different."

"I'm sure they _are,"_ she agreed.

They drove in silence for a few moments, with Liz simply concentrating on the road ahead. Eventually, Reddington offered, "No, my tastes are... much simpler." She blinked and then glanced over at him, having considered the discussion over and curious as to his continued thoughts. He was looking out the front windshield, his mind clearly focusing on something that had nothing to do with the view. "To me, it's _much_ more valuable to have... a child's painting... on your refrigerator door..." His voice grew softer; Liz furrowed her brow but said nothing. "...a crudely... drawn... house with windows, and a big yellow sun coming out of the corner of the paper... with... mommy and daddy in stick figures, twice as big as the house itself, with a smiling child standing in the middle, and a... dog, larger than the lot of them, on the side."

Liz's breathing became shallow; the need for quiet on her side seemed overpowering. Even the sound of the car engine felt too loud right now. She looked over at Reddington again, the small smile that had been on his face earlier, replaced with contemplation, and, perhaps, distress. Was she ever going to know who this man really was?

Red shook his head softly, dropped his eyes to the dashboard. "Some things... can't have a price tag."

Though she wasn't quite sure why, Liz's heart clenched at that. Something about the way Red spoke, something about the way he looked; she was certain he was in the grip of a memory, something both beautiful and immensely painful. "No, they can't," she agreed in practically a whisper. She looked back toward the long, straight road.

Silence sat between them for a moment, filled with unspoken thoughts. Eventually, Liz started singing softly. "Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry...when I take you out in the surrey... when I take you out in the surrey with the _fringe_—"

Red turned weary eyes toward her. "Lizzie, please."

"You prefer _South Pacific _maybe?" she asked.

He offered her a small smile in return but said nothing. Eventually, she asked, gently, "How _did_ you picture your life?"

This time his eyes were quizzical when he looked at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"In your darkest hours. What did you think you'd be doing?"

"Drowning my sorrows in a bottle of fine scotch while wallowing in my regrets."

"I thought you didn't _have_ regrets," Liz said.

"Oh, of those I have many," Reddington answered. Liz looked over to see him again staring out the front windshield. His eyes were focused on something far, far in the distance.

"I guess we all do," she offered quietly. "I suppose we just carry them and move on."

"That depends on what you regret," Red answered, his voice low, and gravelly. "Some regrets are too heavy a burden to move on from. We travel, but we don't actually move."

For the second time, Liz's heart seized. With nothing to say that she was certain would lift his mood, she stayed quiet. Eventually, she piped up with an idea: "Let's play a game."

Reddington's eyes stayed on the road ahead. "I'm not in the mood to play games, Lizzie."

"Come on," she encouraged him. "It's a long drive; let's play a game."

He sighed. "You're like a child, Lizzie. Next I'll expect to hear, 'Are we there yet?'"

"I'll know when we're there," she said, cheekily. "I'm driving."

Reddington just shook his head.

"Come on—Truth or Dare. Okay? You ask first."

"Lizzie, I don't—"

"Come on," she persisted.

"Fine. If you insist. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Reddington considered her choice. "This is going to be boring."

"You don't know what's going to come out of my mouth! Ask me something."

Another sigh. "All right. Why are you driving a rented car?"

"Really? That's what you want to know?" Liz asked.

"Lizzie, if there's one thing you constantly complain about, it's that I know so much about you. If you want to tell me a _truth,_ it will have to be something I don't already know. I don't know why you're driving this Prius. Aside from it being small and not remotely as luxurious as my usual rides, it's not your car. So, why are we in it."

Liz wrinkled her nose at her passenger's response. It was true, after all. "I don't want to drive my car. Tom bought it for me last year and I don't want to be reminded of him right now."

Red nodded once, took a cursory look around the car. "Economical," he observed.

"That's right," she replied.

He seemed to think for a moment, then added, "Green."

"I didn't have a choice about the color."

"I was talking about the environmental impact."

"Oh." When he lapsed back into silence, she resumed gamely, "My turn. Truth or dare?"

Red thought for a moment. "Truth."

She laughed in disbelief. "What?"

"Truth," he repeated quietly. He continued to look out the windshield.

Liz's jaw dropped and she looked at him. "Red, in this game you _have_ to tell the truth if you pick that—no matter what the question."

"I know."

"I can ask you anything—anything at all. You have to be honest with me," she challenged, still stunned at his choice, and not completely sure he understood the implications of it, if he was taking it seriously.

Red turned to look at her, his eyes piercing, challenging. "Ask your question, Lizzie."

He turned away and looked out the window again. She studied him for a moment, thinking how to best take advantage of this incredibly rare opportunity for answers. She looked at his face, and for just a second saw past the usual smugness, the amusement, the confidence, the one-upmanship, instead seeing something far, far more human, and far, far more vulnerable. The change was disconcerting—and sad, in a way. It was clear to her that he was reflecting on... _something_... something that was hurting him deeply.

Before she could stop herself, she asked softly, "What are you thinking about right now?"

His mind still far, far away, Red's words came out sounding strained, almost strangled. "Things I wish had turned out differently."

The sorrow in his voice brought tears to Liz's eyes. "What things?" she probed gently.

A pause, then Red looked at her, sadness and mild amusement mixing just in the corner of his eyes. "Is this all part of the same turn?" he asked. The tiniest whisper of a laugh. "Lizzie, _that_ list is far too long for this trip. It's a much shorter answer to tell you what turned out right."

She decided to go along with him. "What turned out right?"

He looked back out the windshield, away from her persistent expression. "Working with you."

Totally unprepared for his answer, Liz found herself unable to come up with a response that sounded casual. So she simply prompted, "And...?"

Red's eyes now focused on a small township they were fast approaching. "Working with you," he repeated firmly. "Lizzie, if there's a truck stop and convenience store up there, you should fill up this little rental car and grab some snacks."

"Red," Liz said, trying to stay connected to that exposed, unguarded part of himself that she had been so stunned to glimpse, "are you saying that the _only_ thing—"

But that moment was gone. "We can stretch our legs, and then I can drive; I know how you like to nibble when you're bored, and this isn't the most exciting trip you've ever taken, I'm sure." Red nodded as he continued to study the buildings in the distance. "_Best_ apple pie I ever had was at a restaurant at the _Autohof_ in _Osnabrück, _Germany, back in 2006. I'd been out of circulation for five days and I was absolutely _famished..."_

Liz tuned out the story; she took it for what it was: a transparent attempt to deflect any further exposure. She knew, drawn as she had been to the idea of seeing more deeply inside Red in his moment of weakness, that she'd blown her chance to find out why he had chosen her; why he insisted on protecting her; why he would risk everything for her. But as she watched Red continuing to gesture and expand his distracting story, she felt confident that eventually she'd know the truth. In the meantime she'd take what he offered.

* JSTB * JSTB * JSTB *

Thoughts? DO let me know!


End file.
